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My main goal is to provide you and your business with elegant ways in representing your work. Sure business cards and fliers are fine to give to customers and potential clients; however give them a complimentary item that will not end up in the nearest trash can.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Twenty-eight year old Kennedy Logan is gorgeous, educated, talented, and in love. Unfortunately, Drake Collins has other ideas about the true state of their relationship. Kennedy hopes to turn him around; Drake just wants to turn her out sexually. Kennedy is also searching for her biological mother, who gave her up at birth. She wants answers and she has tons of questions. The enormous weight of these predicaments leads to a failed suicide attempt.

Her overprotective and overbearing mother, Dorothy Logan, moves in with Kennedy and makes it her mission to get her daughter's life back in order. The first step is getting rid of Drake Collins once and for all, but that's easier said than done. Drake has no intentions of going anywhere. Kennedy's ever loyal and fun-loving best friend, Taylor, and her absentee father join forces to help support Kennedy in her time of need.

At her psychiatrist's advice, Kennedy uses writing as her therapy. She starts to keep a daily journal detailing the erotic circumstances and family drama that led up to her despair. Through very personal, funny, and graphic entries, readers will share her confessions. Brace yourselves for a very steamy journey!

Prologue True Confessions by Electa Rome Parks

(Erotic Fiction)

My reality is surreal and happens in super, slow motion. A nervous giggle escapes my chapped, dry and parched lips. I lick them to restore moisture. Then, there is utter, deadly silence. If I listen closely, I can hear my heartbeat beating away at an accelerated pace. My senses are heightened and I marvel over the brilliant, bold colors of my bedroom as I inhale my favorite fragrances, from their spot on my antique dresser, colliding into one another with their potent allure. Even my sense of touch is different somehow. Everything is magnified to the nth degree. It’s like I’m looking down at myself from a huge movie screen with surround sound as I ready myself for the big finale---the final shot and then fade to black.

I’ve never been good at saying goodbye, even on short, weekend trips. I keep the handwritten note short and sweet and pray to God that mother will understand, and hopefully, one day, forgive me.

I don’t mean to hurt her or cause her any fresh pain. I sincerely don't. I hope she understands that this isn't her fault, that I love her with all my heart and being. No matter what, that fact will never change. I’m so thankful and forever grateful that she chose me to be her daughter out of all the orphaned babies in the world. She chose me. I told myself over and over again that that made me special. I needed to feel special instead of unwanted and discarded.

I’ll miss mother the most, but the hurt I feel inside is too unbearable and indescribable. It is too painful for me to continue, day in and day out, with just a hollow emptiness that erodes and corrupts any happiness that briefly surfaces. The dawn of each new day only brings me more heartache and renewed memories. Some memories are like leeches. They latch on for dear life and slowly, ever so slowly, suck and drain all the blood, all the living out of you. You are left with just a shell of the old you and that's no way to survive. Not for me, anyway.

When they find me, I want it to look like I’m sleeping, peacefully. Just like Sleeping Beauty who only needed a handsome prince to kiss her and awaken her from the darkness that engulfed her. However, for me, there won't be a handsome, charming prince to wake me, save me, and ride off into eternity. All my so-called princes were monsters in disguise with their own hidden agendas that attempted to crush and stamp out my self-esteem. Yes, just blessed sleep awaits me.

I chose pills. I couldn’t subject mother to a messy, bloody scene that comes with slitting one’s wrists or shooting one's self. I refuse to take my final breath with that heavy on my heart. I don't think my heart could handle anything else weighing against it. As it is, I feel like I have three hundred pounds weighing me down. Crushing the life out of me.

As I settle myself comfortably on my queen-size bed, slowly pull the red, satin comforter up to my chin and stare at the full bottle of prescription pills carefully nestled in my right hand, I can’t imagine not waking up in the morning.

What will it be like to not see the rising sun? To not hear my alarm clock going off announcing it’s time to get ready for another day of work? Not hitting snooze to give myself another fifteen minutes? Not rushing to finish my morning rituals before I dash out the door and into rush-hour traffic? What will that feel like?

More important to me now, though, is will it hurt? I hope not. I have never been able to tolerate too much pain, physical, mental or emotional. Yet, that’s what Drake has caused me for the last year of my life. Pain. Intolerable suffering.

I only wanted to love him and for him to love me in return. Simple enough. Was that asking too much? My part of the equation was accomplished, effortless. Drake claimed he loved me, but he really didn’t. Probably never could. Didn't know how to love or receive it. After what happened last week, I know he didn’t. Yet, I gave him everything: my heart, my body, my soul. Now, I have nothing left to give myself. I'm empty inside.

As tears slowly flood my weary eyes and blur my vision, I look around my cozy bedroom for the last time. Ever. It used to be one of my favorite rooms in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment. There was nothing better than lighting several fragrant candles, drinking a little white wine and cozying up with a good romance novel. Yes, that was heaven. Simple things excite me. Always have. Watching a sunrise or sunset, waking up to birds chirping in the treetops, walking hand in hand through the park with the one I love, all these things brought me great joy.

Mother will have to understand. I left her a note, propped up on the nightstand, in full view, that explains how much I love her and daddy. What will she think when she can’t reach me tonight? I would love to hear her soothing, loving voice one last time. Yet, I know I wouldn’t be able to go through with my plan if I did. I’d give away my intentions over the phone or mother would pick up on my foul mood and that would be that. I’d wake up another day with this aching, dull pain inside, tearing me apart, bit-by-bit. Pain that dulls and diminishes every ounce of my strength, all the way down to my pores.

Drake Collins. His name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Just the thought of him brings bile to the back of my throat. I will forever regret the day I met that man. If I could turn back the hands of time, do it all over again, I would have called in sick that day or run for the hills. I was just fine with my life the way it was. Sure, it wasn’t exciting or glamorous, but it was enough for me. Drake came with the charm, movie star looks, glitz and high drama and reeled me right in like a bass caught at sea. I gladly jumped into his net.

I say a silent prayer of forgiveness as I place one, then two colorful pills on my tongue and swallow dry. I didn't think of getting a glass of water. I can't think. The lump in my throat quickly diminishes. There’s no turning back now. Just like there was no turning back when Drake turned me out. The countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight. . . I've lived a happy life. I have tons of good memories. I've treated others the way I wanted to be treated.

I hope this happens quickly. I steadfastly place three, four pills on my tongue and swallow again. Hot tears start to spill forth and stream down my cheeks as I realize the final result of my actions. Seven, six, five. . . It’s for the best. I need to stop the pain. Will he even miss me? Or will he just move on to his next victim? Will all this be in vain?

I guess I’ll never have that family now. The one I used to daydream and write about in my journal. The family with the almost perfect mommy and daddy and two kids, a boy and girl. The boy would be the oldest, and he'd look out for and protect his younger sister. They'd have cute, adorable names and they'd know they were wanted and loved and cherished by their parents. They'd never feel unwanted.

Four, three. . . I swallow a handful of pills this time. I've lost count as to how many I've digested. As spittle escapes from my mouth, I gag. I wipe the overflow away with the back of my hand and keep right on shoving pills in my mouth until the orange-brown medicine bottle is empty. I look inside, in awe, shake the bottle, and can’t believe the pills are gone so quickly. Just like the illusion of love. If you blink, you'll miss it.

I wonder if Drake even realizes how much I loved him? Now, I wait for blessed relief and peace to take away my hurt and pain. I’m so tired. Tired of loving the wrong men. Tired of giving my all, coming up empty, and getting absolutely nothing back in return. Good sex isn’t the end all to everything. Drake taught me that lesson.

Two, one. . . It won’t be long now. I faintly smile and lay back against my down pillow.

I welcome peace. In my mind, I start silently repeating Psalms 23. I shall walk through the valley of death; I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. I’m so sleepy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel myself giving in to the fog that slowly invades my mind. Maybe if I close my eyes for a few moments. Yeah, just rest them for a few minutes without seeing Drake’s face behind my heavy eyelids.

Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a big, fluffy white cloud, bouncing up and down, giddy with not a care in the world. This is a different sensation that I literally reach out my right hand to embrace and never let go of. Not a care in the world. Nothing matters but blessed, uneventful sleep. I close my tired, weary eyes as the countdown ends. Fade to black.

Electa Rome Parks lives outside Atlanta, Georgia and is the best-selling author of six acclaimed novels, The Ties That Bind, Loose Ends, Almost Doesn't Count, Ladies' Night Out, These Are My Confessions (anthology) and Diary of a Stalker. Dubbed a "book club favorite," avid readers have embraced Electa's true to life characters that tackle prevalent and heavy hitting issues that take them on an emotional roller coaster.

The self-proclaimed Queen of Real, Electa has been a frequent guest on radio shows, nominated for many industry awards and interviewed by numerous newspapers and national magazines. Electa is currently following her passion and working on her next novel and first screenplay.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Book Review: “Raising Him Alone” by David Miller and Matthew P. Stevens

Reviewed by Lynia White, founder of The Quality Corner Bookstore

Millions of black women find themselves in the very challenging position of raising a son on their own. Raising Him Alone is a valuable resourcedesigned to help single mothers to successfully face the challenge. It is written by two men that are passionate about empowering youths todayand dedicated to helping young people succeed. David Miller is Co-founder and Chief Visionary Officer of the Urban Leadership Institute, anenterprise that focuses on creating positive youth development strategies.

Miller has a background in education and has authored several books. Matthew Stevens is the Founder of Empower Today’s Youth, whichprovides youth with tools to make healthy life decisions. Stevens is also a presenter, youth counselor and freshman college advisor. Miller andStevens have brought their experience together to create Raising Him Alone.

Absent fathers has become an epidemic in the black community. It can be very difficult for black single mothers to raise a boy to be a man.Statistics reflect how young black males have been affected by the absence of a father in the home. For example, a recent report ongraduation rates indicates that in some US cities, the drop out rates among black males exceed 65 percent. That is a staggering statistic. Young men in the black community need help. The help that these boys need must start at home. The purpose of Raising Him Alone is to providethe support and guidance that single mothers need to help their sons flourish.

This guide provides so much practical wisdom. Issues such as literacy, sex education and law enforcement are discussed. The importance ofknowing your son is stressed. A mother needs to know what her son’s interests are, who his friends are and what’s in his room. I appreciatethe candid approach of this book. Often, self-help books will dance around sensitive issues. However, the writers of Raising Him Alone arevery honest about their own experiences with raising children and they get to the heart of issues that matter the most. Black women face veryunique challenges when raising sons.

This book is based on interviews with women that have faced these challenges successfully. They share their success and failures so others can learn from them. While the book is directed to mothers, the role of the father is acknowledged. It is critical that boys have a relationship with their father. Mothers are helped to determine how to deal with the connection between their son and his father. The assistance of mentors and otherrole models is encouraged. There is even a section that addresses grandparents that are raising grandsons.

I applaud the effort of Miller and Stevens to help mothers raise their sons alone. The strategies found in this book will benefit any mother that wants to raise a boy to be a strong asset in the community. In addition to this book, there is a website dedicated to this cause. For more information, visit http://www.raisinghimalone.com/.

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Hello, my name is Debra Owsley and my company is Simply Said Reading Accessories. I custom design and hand make reading accessories such as “Gift Marks” also known as Bookmarks, Book Thongs, Book Plates and note cards that I call Love Notes; for Authors Book Stores Book Clubs and Book Lovers.

This is what I do, but…it’s all about youI have been perfecting my craft for a little over 4 years as a specialty service. As an avid reader, I had to find a way to support my “Book Habit”; I have always been crafty and made some for my clients one year for Christmas, I am a hair stylist, and they encouraged me to pursue this as a business.

I also have a client who is an author and she commissioned me to custom some for her, thus the Authors Custom Work came in. I attend several major book events a year and I can proudly say that my work is appreciated by some of the finest authors, in the industry.

Book lovers can enjoy my work too! Check out my booklovers gift shop to view pre-designed selections. I love to create and make the “Giftmarks”, and Book Thongs. I have hundreds of different designs, all have wonderful quotes, sayings, or phases that speaks to you. View the catalogs here.